


Time

by Lady_Nerd52



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:26:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3503291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Nerd52/pseuds/Lady_Nerd52
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally the second chapter of a two-parter I originally posted over at FF.net (that arose out of a challenge from Lizicia, also a fine author in her own right). While the first chapter is sort of negated these days by events that have transpired since I first wrote it, I discovered that the second chapter stood on its own quite well. Sort of a time out of time interlude I could imagine happening between these two very tightly wound individuals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time

The man's skin was like a Jackson Pollock painting—a pale canvas with an abundance of small, irregular dots ranging in shade from the lightest café au lait to a ruddier hue that very nearly matched his hair scattered across its surface. She could spend endless hours lazily trailing her fingers across his skin, mapping each hidden picture, tracing each abstract design, as if all of his secrets were contained within the unique landscape of his body.

That she had barely an hour to seek them out was like some sort of cruel joke the Universe was inflicting on her. Or perhaps, simply a reminder.

"Why are you here?" His voice was wondering rather than confrontational.

Because of that tone—so unlike what she was accustomed to hearing from him—she deflected his question with one of her own. "Why do you want me?"

"Hell if I know."

Ah, there. That sounded more like the man she knew. Yet didn't know at all. "Then ditto."

After a pause he asked in a lowered voice, "Are we both liars?"

She matched his pause. "Probably."

She followed a trail down his sternum and across his ribs. A lazy, meandering path that put her in mind of a river. A hidden spot that spoke of trees and shadows and the sound of water tumbling over rocks worn smooth across millennia. That spoke of seclusion. And peace.

More wishful thinking, maybe. Definitely.

His watch ticked steadily as he stroked her hair, a herald come bearing an ominous, inevitable message. Time was not their friend.

"Liz—"

She took that as another sign and pushed herself up. But before she could roll completely away from his body—from the warmth and comfort that had been lacking for entirely too long—she felt hands wrap around her upper arms. He held her in place above him—just far enough away to force her to meet his level gaze. No escaping now.

But then, she was the one who had come in of her own free will, hadn't she? Grave, silent, meeting his gaze, much as she did now, staring at him across his threshold for a long, charged moment before she took that final step.

The escape she'd sought had been to him, not from him.

"Why are you here?"

She remained silent for a long time, tracing her answer by way of connecting the pale marks scattered across his chest. Words and sentiments she couldn't quite put voice to. But even if he understood, that wouldn't be enough for him. He was a man of substance—a man who relied on tangible evidence. He might understand what she was trying to convey, but he wouldn't fully trust it until he had some form of concrete proof.

There was so very little she could give him. Least of all the time she wanted to. The only thing she could do was give him the truth. At least, as much of it as she herself understood.

"Because I wanted to be here."

There was more, of course, but she didn't even fully understand it herself. Starting with what she was even doing here. With him. Never would she have imagined herself in this position. At all. And certainly not with him.

Yet, he was the only person with whom she could ever imagine doing this.

She knew all of the psychology. Hours spent in forced proximity, abnormally close relationships that would not exist under any other circumstance, results of traumatic events, blah, blah, _blah_.

Academically speaking, she knew the statistics. The probabilities.

Academically speaking, she didn't give a damn.

Statistics and probabilities had no way by which to take into account emotion.

There was no graph or study that could accurately measure what they'd survived to date.

No quantifiable way by which to mark her absolute knowledge that this was merely the beginning of a long, hard road. One in which they would be increasingly relying on each other.

Even with his watch ticking incessantly, she gave into impulse and lowered herself down until her head rested on his chest, the steady beating of his heart drowning out the inexorable _tick…tick…tick…._

"Will you be back?" His voice was barely louder than his heart, each word, fitting seamlessly into the silent pauses between beats.

Once again she drew her answer, this time along the skin of his forearm, the fine hairs teasing her sensitive skin. Finally, she wrapped her hand around his wrist, her palm covering the face of his watch. Obliterating its face with the numbers that appeared to mock her.

"If you want."


End file.
